Break the Child: Chapter Fifteen: Abortion

                                                Chapter Fifteen: Abortion

            There was tension at dinner tonight. Mum and Dad weren’t talking much. You know it’s bad when they fire, asking for things, at each other like missiles.

‘Would you pass the pepper, please? If it’s not too much trouble?’

            ‘Of course, it’s not too much trouble. Here you are.’

            ‘Thank you very much.’

            ‘You’re more than welcome,’

            I mean, who talks polite like that? It’s normally, ‘Chuck us the pepper, please, love.’ They only talk politely to each other when they’re halfway through a barney. And I know they are only halfway through, because if they were all the way through to the end, they wouldn’t be speaking at all and Dad would have done without his pepper just to make a point. Mum calls it, cutting off your nose to spite your face.

I call it, eating unseasoned food because you’re a plonker.

            After dinner they couldn’t wait to get rid of me. They didn’t exactly send me to my room, but it was made clear that they didn’t want me there. Dad said that I couldn’t use the downstairs computer because he needed to use it and I’d have to do my homework in my room. He wasn’t telling the truth because five minutes later I heard them shouting at each other. How is it that it’s okay for parents to tell lies?

            I crept out of my bedroom and sat on the stairs. I could hear everything because they forgot not to shout at each other in case I heard.

            ‘Annie, all I’m saying is at least let’s think about it. I’m not saying go out and do it tomorrow. We need to avail ourselves of all the facts, that’s all. We have so much to discuss while we still—,’ he tailed off.

            ‘While we still can? Go on, say it. It’s what you meant. Let’s have this insane conversation before I’m too loopy to wipe my own backside. There’s nothing to discuss, Steve. End of conversation. I can’t believe you. How can you even think such a thing, never mind actually suggest it? You just don’t want this baby, do you? You never did.’

            ‘I never did. Now, you’re putting words into my mouth. Of course, I want the baby. Well at least I did—,’ Mum gasped and started yelling over Dad, but he just carried on shouting her down. ‘—but I want you more. Annie, this medication is important. You heard what the doctor said, the condition is going to be greatly accelerated if you don’t take it. Greatly accelerated, Annie. I don’t want to even think about what that means.’

            ‘Well that’s a chance that I’m going to have to take. It’s only for a few months and then I’ll pop as many pills as you want me to. But until then, it’s not an option, so I’m just going to have to manage without them. The doctor said there are all kinds of harmless minerals and vitamins that can help.’ She sounded determined, like when she says, no, and really means it.

            ‘Vitamins, Annie you have got dementia, how is vitamin (F-bomb) C going to help? You need the proper medication and if that means making—certain sacrifices, then that’s how it’s got to be. Annie, I’m begging you, please, see sense.’

            ‘Certain sacrifices?’ I wish they wouldn’t keep repeating each other. I’m still trying to work out what they’re arguing about. It’s bad enough mum talking in loops on account of her being nuts, but now dad’s doing it too. What on earth am I going to do if they’ve both gone loopy?

‘Steve, you said you wanted to talk about it, what was the buzz phrase, oh yes, “Explore all of our avenues and options,” sounds to me like you’ve already made up your mind. I want this baby.’

            ‘I don’t. Not if it means making you ill.’

            ‘I’m already ill, Steve. That’s not the baby’s fault. You’re on about killing a baby. This is your child. How can you even contemplate it?’

            What did she say? Did she actually, actually say that my dad wants to kill our baby. I need to calm down, it’s just Mum being crazy again, that’s all this argument is, it’s just Mum being mad. My dad’s not really going to stab her in the belly to kill our baby—or does she mean when it’s been born? —I’ll have to watch him—just in case.

‘Honey, come away from the emotions for a second, it’s not a baby, not yet. How far on are you, three weeks, a month?’

            ‘Huh, and the rest, I’ve been puking for over a fortnight. You are completely clueless, aren’t you? You have no idea.’

            ‘Well two months then, three at most. It’s not a baby, Annie; it’s just a bunch of cells. A termination now would be the best thing for everybody. Have you even considered how you’re going to look after it, when things get worse?  Honey, you can’t even feed the cats.’

            ‘Stephen Bell, how could you, that’s a low shot. I love the cats. Is this how it’s going to be from now on? Every time my illness makes me forget something, are you going to store it up to use against me?’

            ‘No, of course not. I know you love the cats, but already you’re forgetting to feed them. How can you possibly look after a baby? You aren’t going to get better, Annie, from here on in, things are only going to get worse.’

            ‘I can get carers. The doctor said so. I’m not having an abortion, Steve, and that’s final.’

            An abortion. See now I’m repeating stuff. Now I know what they’re talking about.

Tears were streaming down my face.

 I had to put my fist in my mouth and bite down on it to stop from screaming out. There was so much going round and round in my head.

My dad wants my Mum to have an abortion. I can’t believe that my dad actually, actually said that. Can you believe it? My dad who I thought was the best dad in the whole entire world is –a monster. It’s because of this dementia thing, that she’s got. My body’s jerking with the sobs now. I don’t know what hurts more, the thought of Mum having an abortion and killing my baby brother or sister, or the new news that Mum’s not going to bet better. It doesn’t matter if she’s a bit mental, we can cope. She can’t kill the baby.

 She can’t.

            I run down the stairs and burst through the door. They both stop shouting and stare at me. I run straight up to Dad and start punching him in the stomach. I’ve never hated my dad before, and it hurts so much. I’m sobbing and punching and scratching and screaming at him.

‘You can’t kill the baby. You can’t. Mum, tell him.’

            ‘Now look what you’ve done,’ Mum says, grabbing me and trying to pull me off dad. Dad has his arms wrapped around me. He’s not trying to stop me from hitting him at all. He’s just cuddling me and telling me, ‘Shush,’ and saying that it’ll be all right. How can it be all right when he wants to kill my sister? ‘What about me?’ I’m screaming at him, ‘Don’t I get a say in all this. You’re killing my little brother or sister. It’s not just about you and Mum, you know. This is my family too.’

            We sat down at the kitchen table. I hate that table, everything bad happens there. I want to chop it into little pieces and burn it in a big fire. They take turns in telling me about stuff. Dad says that the termination, he doesn’t call it an abortion, is only one option. It’s like a termination is different to an abortion and it makes it better—but it isn’t, it’s still an abortion. They want to kill my baby. He says they are only discussing it. He explains to me as though I’m an idiot that Mum needs some special tablets and that she can’t have them while she’s pregnant because they will harm the baby. I’m not three, he’s not telling me about Jack and his special beans that turn into a beanstalk. I tell him not to talk to me as though I’m a baby. Suddenly he straightens up. ‘Okay,’ he says,’ I think you’re right. You are old enough to be told what’s going on.

            ‘Steve,’ says Mum in her warning voice.

            ‘It’s okay Annie. She needs to know. Katie, honey, your Mum’s very sick and she’s not going to get better.’

            I’m crying all over again. ‘Is she going to die?’

            ‘No love. No, she’s not going to die, not for a long time anyway, but she is going to get worse. This is just the start, Katie, Mum’s going to get very forgetful and she’s going to need a lot of looking after.’

            I smile a big brave, watery smile. ‘That’s okay then. As long as she’s not going to die. It’s not as though she’s got cancer, is it? We’ll help her, Dad. We’ll write lists and stuff to help her to remember things.’

            Dad and Mum are holding hands now. They give each other that look, the one that says they know better about everything, than me. Dad gives me a hug and says, ‘I know you will, chicken.’

            I can make a list and I can do templates on the computer. I’ll give one a flower border, Mum likes flowers and later on I can make different ones. We’ll have one with cats on and one with pictures of little cute babies so’s Mum doesn’t forget that she’s having one again and so’s Dad doesn’t want to kill it. I don’t mind if Dad forgets that they’re having a baby `cause then he can forget about killing it too. I just won’t mention our baby around him.  It’ll be all right. Mum goes for her scan tomorrow. When they see the baby on the screen and have a photo of it, they’ll feel better about it. Dad will be sorry then for wanting to kill her.

I won’t let them have an abortion. I’ll chain myself to mum like women did to be able to vote. This is way more important than putting a cross on a piece of paper. I’m still not sure why they did that. They did all this big fight just to write a cross on a paper and put it in a secret box. They could have chained themselves up over not having to wear those horrible long dresses that were always brown. I think it was a waste of chains and going without lunch to do it over voting. I suppose it’s important a bit, `cause Miss Chew said it is, but I can think of better things to chain yourself up over. Like my mum not having an abortion.

My dad’s a pig. I bet he hit a puppy over the head with a spade when he was a little boy. That’s how serial killers start being killers, they hit dogs over the head with spades to try it out before killing people. If any prostitutes go missing tomorrow, I’m going to ring the police and tell them it was my dad wot killed them. And I’ll be on telly and have newspaper men knocking on the door to talk to me. And I’ll have to put a coat over my head when I get in the car so that they can’t see my face, but I’ll drop the coat just a bit so Sal and everybody at school can see that it’s me wots got a serial killer dad.

Just think, this time tomorrow I’ll be holding a picture of the little one. Once I can actually see her, it will be easier to pick the right name.